


I Never Saw a Goddess Go

by Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar



Category: Something Rotten! - Kirkpatrick/Kirkpatrick/O'Farrell
Genre: Baby Nigel, Doting Nick, M/M, NO ONE KNOWS, Sickfic, Stressed Shakespeare, What's the age difference between the Bottoms supposed to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:23:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar/pseuds/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick loves Will. That much he is sure. But Will is infuriating and too stressed for his own good and won't accept any help or rest, and Nick just wants to knock some sense into him. But Nick loves Will... he guesses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing with my time. I'm in college with papers to write and books to read. Instead I decide to watch a bootleg and write a fanfiction.
> 
> Also, I know that Nigel says that Will never knew him, but I'm just going to ignore that. Artistic freedom.

Nick usually got along with Will at rehearsal. He always made gentle suggestions about his acting and tried to keep him from saying or doing anything that might upset the other actors or -- more importantly -- their patron. He was always calm about it, though; not wanting to upset his boyfriend. Will would more than likely brush off all the advice, but Nick never wanted to start a fight at rehearsal. Fights could wait for when they went back to Will’s home and could make up in his bed. So, he let Will’s disregardance go.  

Nick’s most recent suggestion was that Will pursue writing. Will was an amazing writer, and they needed new material for their next performance. Nick convinced him to let the troupe use one of his plays for these reasons, but also because he thought the performance would be… stronger without Will on stage. Everyone had their place in theatre, and Nick believed that Will’s was behind the curtain. The only downfall was that the slightly-pretentious, borderline-egotistical Will became totally pretentious and egotistical by the end of their weeks of rehearsals. He was making it hard for Nick to love him. It also seemed that, for the first time since Nick knew him, he was stressed out. 

Will was usually laid back. He never worried about a show. Learning lines was natural to him, rehearsals were never a bother, and his biggest concern always seemed to be his hair. But the second he agreed to volunteer a play for the troupe, that perfect face was burdened with frowns and scowls and grimaces. 

It was a day that Nick brought Nigel along to the theatre. Due to Nigel’s love for writing and theatre and his brother, he occasionally tagged along to rehearsals. At age 7, he was 10 years junior to Nick and was raised single-handedly by his older brother. He was adored by the acting troupe.

“Get that child out of the way!”

He was adored by  _ most  _ of the acting troupe.

Nick couldn’t understand why Will suddenly had such a short temper around Nigel. He usually humored him by listening to the simple poems he wrote even if Will had stated several times earlier that he didn’t like children. 

“Come here, Nige.”

Nick opened his arms for the crying Nigel to run into. He held him tight and glared at Will. Will didn’t notice -- or chose to ignore it -- and continued waving his notebook around at all the actors, shouting more abuse. 

“He didn’t mean to be shout,” Nick said, patting Nigel’s back and pulling away. “Will’s just tired and cranky right now.”

Nick watched Will boss everyone around. He wanted to stay mad, but he couldn’t. He only felt bad for him. Will was pale and thin. He looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. Nick knew that yelling was too out of character for him. Will hardly lost his temper. 

“Maybe he needs a nap. What do you think?” Nick said, digging his fingers into Nigel’s sides to tickle him. 

Nigel giggled and squirmed. His tears dried instantly, and he buried himself into Nick’s chest again. 

“Let’s read some poetry,” Nick said. “And then I’ll talk to Will later about being mean to you.”

“Okay. I love you, Nick.”

“I love you, too.”

While Nick took Nigel to a semi-isolated corner of the stage and settled down on the floor, Will continued to harass the rest of the cast. 

Nick opened the collection of Edmund Spenser poems Nigel carried around. It was tattered and well-used and already read three times over. 

Will opened his notebook to the scene the actors were on. It was new; bought especially for that very play. The leather was still clean and the pages still crisp. 

“ My love is like to ice, and I to fire…”

Nigel sat at Nick’s side. His eyes followed the lines as they were read to him.

“No! No! No! That’s not how it should be done at all!”

Will flipped through his pages of writing. His eyes scanned the words. His eyebrows furrowed. He ran a hand through his hair. No one noticed how hard it was shaking. 

“How comes it then that this her cold so great/ Is not dissolv’d through my so hot desire,/ But harder grows the more I her entreat?”

The Bottoms were oblivious to the yelling and rising tempers of the troupe. While everyone was in plain sight, they were too involved in their own world to notice.

“Agh! Why did I write this? It’s rubbish!”

Will feverishly flipped through his script. The actors groaned and threw their heads back.

“Or how comes it that my exceeding heat/ Is not delay’d by her heart-frozen cold;”

Nigel grabbed a fistful of Nick’s sleeve, eyes widening. Nick smiled as he continued to approach Nigel’s favorite part.

“I’ll rewrite it tonight… I need to collect my thoughts on this scene -- it’s all rubbish.” 

The actors protested in shouts. They couldn’t afford another day without rehearsal because Will wanted to rewrite the play. Again.

“But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,/ And feel my flames augmented manifold!”

“I’ll have something new tomorrow. It’ll be better…”

“What more miraculous thing may be told,/ That fire, which all things melt, should harden ice;/ And ice, which is congeal’d with senseless cold,/ Should kindle fire by wonderful device!”

“Just be patient! This play has to be perfect!”

“Such is the power of love in gentle mind,/ That is can alter all the course of kind.”

Nigel’s smile spread from ear to ear. Nick wrapped an arm around him. There was something about poetry that made him -- the emotional boy with anxiety -- so calm and peaceful. Nick wasn’t too partial to the sonnets that they read together, but as long as Nigel was happy, so was he.

“Fine then! Go home!”

The brothers looked up, finally aware of the argument surrounding them. The troupe was storming off the stage. Will was left behind with his notebook clutched in his hand. 

Nick laid the book on Nigel’s lap and rose to his feet. “I’ll be back. Just stay here.”

Will watched the troupe, one by one, gather their belongings and walk out of the theatre. Nick took hesitant, slow steps towards him. He stared at Will’s back, nervous to make a sound. Will was like a bomb waiting for the slightest disturbance to set him off. And it was up to Nick to figure out how to defuse him.

“Will?” he whispered. 

Will didn’t move. The rest of the actors filed out the door. Nick took a step closer. 

“Will --” 

As Nick reached out to touch his shoulder, Will spun around. His face was red, and his eyes were dark. Nick’s arm was frozen in air.

“What? What do you want, Nick?”  

In each other’s face, Nick noticed how utterly exhausted Will look. Sure, he was furious and that was evident by his snarl, but what stuck out most were the dark circles and bags under his bloodshot eyes. How did Nick go so long without noticing? 

“Take a deep breath, Will. Relax.”

Will’s shoulders slumped. His head went limp, and he stared at the floor. 

“Go home and instead of writing, go to sleep,” Nick said. 

Will ran a hand through his hair and looked back up. Anger no longer resided in his eyes. Just exhaustion and perhaps a tinge of sorrow at his self-perceived incompetence. 

“I  _ have  _ to write,” was all he said in a defeated voice that did not belong to the man Nick loved. 

“Let me look at this,” Nick said, sliding Will’s script out of his hands. “I haven’t read the most recent rewrite yet. I figured I would wait to see if you were going to throw it away before the end of the week.”

Will scoffed. Nick thumbed through the pages. He didn’t exactly read it, but he skimmed it enough to look convincing. Will never liked it when he didn’t pay enough attention to his writing. Nick didn’t even need to read it to know it would be good. Better than anything Nick had hopes for writing.

“This is good.”

He usually tried not to compliment Will excessively. It only made his head bigger. But Nick found it necessary as he stood in front of Will, who was resembling a homeless, kicked puppy more and more as the minutes ticked on. 

“Not good enough.”

“No. It is, Will. Just don’t worry about this anymore. The script is fine how it is. We’ll pick this all up tomorrow with the rest of the troupe once everyone calms down, and it’ll all fall into place.”

Will frowned, but he nodded. Nick handed the notebook back. 

“Get some sleep,” he said. 

“Sleep is always so much better when you lay by my side.

Nick smiled. Even exhausted, Will was a flirt and bucking for a bedmate. 

“Sleep alone today. I have to take Nigel home.”

Will’s eyes went to Nigel, who was flipping through the book of sonnets.

“But,” Nick added. “If you promise to sleep, I’ll visit you this evening.”

Will flashed his perfect teeth. The only thing that was missing was the matching light in his eyes. 

“No kid?”

“No Nigel.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Alright… I’ll bid you adieu.”

“Until we meet again.”

“I’ll be counting the minutes.”

Will turned away and strutted towards the door. He had recovered a little of his usual cocky pep. Or he was able to fake it. Nick watched him leave, a smile fading on his lips. 

“Nigel, come on. Let’s go home.”

Nigel jumped to his feet and ran to Nick’s side. “Can we read more after lunch?”

“Of course.”

Nigel smiled. It was a beautiful smile, Nick thought. So innocent and precious. He wanted to preserve that smile forever. 

“Lead the way, Nige.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you don't know about Shakespeare's Fair Youth, look it up before you keep reading. It's very interesting, and it's important to this story from this point on.

Nick waited several long minutes for Will to answer the door. He kicked the ground and looked around at the townsfolk passing by and finishing their day’s work. 

The sun was about to set, and the sky was turning a soft pink. Nick was eager to see the stars appear against the black sky. He loved the night. It was always so calm. Nigel would be asleep, the town was quiet, and Nick could have a few moments to himself to breathe.

The door slowly creaked open. Nick smiled, but it soon fell when he saw Will lean against the doorframe. 

Will looked considerably worse than he did that morning. His ashen complexion was now accompanied by a feverish flush and drooping eyelids. 

“Did you sleep?”

Without a word, Will turned away from the door and trudged in. Nick followed.

“You were supposed to be resting.”

Nick looked around the room. It was dimly lit. Will had obviously been working all day and didn't bother with lighting more candles as the sun moved across the sky. Papers were scattered across the floor. Ink was spilled and splotched on the desk. 

Will stood by the mess, frown heavy on his lips and eyes focused on the floor.

“Why weren't you sleeping?” 

Nick didn't mean to sound so demanding, but Will was so frustrating at times. He never listened. It seemed like everything Nick told him to do, he would do the opposite. No matter how polite or concerned he was. Why couldn’t he be like Nigel? Nigel did everything Nick said.

“I couldn't. I had work to finish.”

Will probably didn't mean to sound so pathetic, but his hoarse voice and quiet statement betrayed his intentions.

“You have to rest, Will!”

Nick moved to his desk, eyes scanning the chaos. He ran his fingers over papers that were soaked in ink and had entire lines of prose scratched out. Nothing seemed legible anymore. If it wasn't hidden by scribbles or had fallen as a casualty in an ink spill, it was chicken scratch or stained with beer.

“I don't think you should be drinking, either,” Nick said, gesturing to the empty mug.

Will was focused on the floor. “I was thirsty and needed to relax.”

“Did you at least eat? For God's sake, why haven't you been taking care of yourself?”

Will leaned against the back of his chair. He didn't look up from the ground and blinked heavily.

“Will?”

Silence filled the room as he prepared to speak. Finally, he said so quietly: “I’m not well.”

Nick’s anger melted away. With a heavy sigh, he walked to Will’s side and put a hand on his back.

“I don’t think you should be up.”

He lead Will to his bed -- only a few feet away and another casualty in his restless working. Nick pushed papers off the mattress as Will struggled to strip out of his clothes. 

“Keep those together. Put them somewhere safe. They’re actually good,” Will said, slowly pulling his shirt over his head. 

Nick took the utmost care in setting the papers in a neat pile. He looked over the top page. It  _ was  _ good. Really good. A mix of envy and pride made his chest heavy. When he turned around and saw Will’s pitiful fetal position on top of his bed, worry made itself at home as well.

Nick tucked Will’s blanket a little closer to his chin. 

“I’ll stay with you,” he whispered. “Go to sleep.”

Will’s laughter was bitter. “I  _ can't _ sleep.”

“Have you tried?”

“I have. For nights.”

“Try again. I'll be right here by your side.”

“Sleep is futile. My mind is too… occupied. It won't shut off.”

Nick reached out and put his hand on Will’s forehead. Will leaned into the touch.

“Your brow is on fire.”

Nick ran his hand through Will’s hair. He had experienced fevers with Nigel before. They were never good, but Nick had mastered comforting burning children. Will wouldn't be any different.

“I'll get you something to cool you down.”

He walked to the kitchen. He looked around the drawers and cabinets, searching for a rag. In his hunt, he discovered the cabinets were nearly barren. Nick shook his head when he finally found a rag. Of course. Will hadn't been eating, and therefore hadn't bothered to go to the market. But at least he appeared to have been getting new water every morning. It was even cool when Nick dipped the rag in.

“Lay down now,” Nick said, returning to his side. 

Will had propped himself up on his elbows to watch Nick move around the kitchen. Nick pressed a hand to his bare chest and gently pushed him back down. 

“This will hopefully help you,” Nick said, laying the rag on his forehead. “But you have to keep still and quiet.”

Will’s eyes never looked so sad. “Don't leave...”

“I'm not. I'm staying here with you. Nigel is with a neighbor, and I can stay all night if you need me to.”

Will’s eyes slid close. “I could write a thousand sonnets about my love for you. You're the greatest man I know… No. No. Greatest boy… You're so young still... Oh, fair youth, how dost thou come to such a life of caring for a boy and lover in such an ill state.”

Nick sighed. “You're delirious. You need to stay quiet, or you'll only get worse.”

He hesitantly reached out and cupped Will’s cheek. His usually well-kept facial hair was reduced to stubble along his neck and long whiskers on his lip and chin. It scratched at Nick’s hand and served as another reminder of how Will’s mind had been so distant that he neglected his favorite thing: himself. 

Nick trailed his hand down Will’s body. He moved from his cheek to his collar to his chest and stayed. Nick needed to feel Will’s chest move, hoping he would soon feel it take in the deep, even breaths of sleep. 

“Goodnight,” Nick whispered. 

Will’s hand raised from his side and settled it atop Nick’s. 

“Sleep well, Will.”


	3. Chapter 3

He was struggling for breath. His chest felt too heavy -- like his ribs had been turned to lead and were crushing his lungs. In fact, all of his bones felt like they had been turned to lead and his joints had rusted. 

“I’ll be back soon.”

A phantom voice was whispering to him. He couldn’t place a face with it, and he couldn’t open his eyes to check. The voice came with a hand that touched his brow. It was cool. He was so hot. 

“I won’t be long.”

The hand left. He whimpered at the loss. 

“Shh… it’ll be alright. I’m only going to get a doctor, and then I’ll be right back by your side.”

The hand squeezed his. He needed to open his eyes to see what greater being the hand and voice was connected to. Maybe it was a deity. A Greek god perhaps. Athena if he were Odysseus. Which one was good with medicine? Surely it had to be a god of medicine bringing him a doctor. 

With all the force he could muster, he cracked open his eyes. 

He was alone. 

His one-room cottage was empty and quiet and dark. One candle was lit next to his head, casting an aura around him. Long shadows climbed up the walls.

Where could the god be? Surely he wasn’t making him up. He had to have been visited by his Athena. But then, Athena didn’t stay with Odysseus, did she? She came and went.

Darkness surrounded him at every angle. It started closing in. His eyelids were slipping. His body wasn’t fighting the darkness, though his mind didn’t want to succumb to such a fate. 

He tossed his head to the side. No medicine god. No hand. No voice. 

He looked back to the candle. His eyes burned as though as they were the wick. 

They closed. His body gave up. 

The darkness beat the medicine god to him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Daylight streamed in through the window and laid across Will like a blanket. His eyes fluttered opened and after several attempts, stayed that way.

“Good afternoon,” Nick said, smiling.

He dabbed Will’s forehead with a rag -- just as he had done all night. Will didn’t speak. He looked up at Nick and furrowed his brow in sleepy confusion.

“You slept through the whole morning. It doesn’t surprise me, though. You were burning up late last night. You were pretty delirious.” Nick brushed a sweat-soaked lock of hair out of Will’s face. “I had to get a doctor in the middle of the night -- and he wasn’t very happy about being woken up.”

“I don’t remember…” Will croaked before wincing.

“Of course you don’t remember anything. You’re lucky your brain didn’t boil.”

Nick grabbed a pitcher and glass sitting on Will’s nightstand. His hands shook slightly as he poured a glass of water.

“The doctor, uh… said you were lucky to have made it through the night actually.”

Nick didn’t make eye contact as he cradled Will’s head to lift it off the pillow. He raised the glass to his lips.

“You’re doing better,” Nick said as Will gulped water, eyes closing at the relief it had on his throat. “Obviously. You’re still feverish, but not as bad as before. Do you feel any better?”

Will nodded and pulled away from the water.

“But if I had been run over by a hundred mules,” he said, voice not improved any. “I wouldn't feel as rotten as I do now.”

Nick’s smile was sad. “Well, now you finally _have_ to rest. No more writing until you’re over this fever of yours --”

“God! I was supposed to have new material today.”

Will ran a hand over his face, scrubbing at his bloodshot eyes. Nick scowled.

“Are you still worrying about that? Everyone understands that you’re ill. They like what you have written anyways, and that’s what they’re using to rehearse today.”

Will moaned. Nick wiped away the sweat still collecting on Will’s face.

“Just don’t think about it. You’ve already overworked yourself. You don’t need to get overwhelmed about the play again.”

Nick dropped the rag in the bowl of water he had sitting on the floor. When Will’s fever peaked, he was there, bathing him with cool water and hushing him when his dreams caused him to thrash in his blankets. He spoke to Will all night, trying to provide a little comfort just in case the man could hear him. He planted little kisses on his temples and brow when he calmed. He took care of Will for hours, wondering how Nigel was doing at the neighbor’s house and fighting exhaustion and trying not to entertain the thought that maybe he would lose Will right before his eyes. And Will was still only worried about writing.

The illness must have fried his brain to where he didn’t act like himself anymore. He didn’t even look like himself. His hair, drenched from water and sweat, was slicked back. His eyes looked hollow and sunken into his pale, thin face. He lacked the confident look he always had in his smirks and posture. Will was a completely different man.

“Just focus on resting,” Nick said. “Do you need anything?”

Will reached out and grabbed Nick’s hand. “Only your company.”

Nick couldn’t help the little smile on his lips. He squeezed Will’s fingers.

“Why don’t _you_ rest?” Will asked.

“I should really keep an eye on you in case --”

“Nonsense.” Will scooched over on his mattress, though moving looked painful and left him a tad breathless. “No reason you shouldn’t sleep as well.”

Nick thought about it. The bed really did look inviting. And he could definitely still monitor Will -- poor, pathetic, Will who definitely needed some close companionship -- if he was laying next to him. It’d be fine.

He climbed out of his chair and into the bed. Under usual circumstances, he would have curled up against Will and allowed himself to be held. But under the circumstances of that afternoon, he pulled Will into his own arms. Feverish and drained, Will gratefully burrowed himself against Nick’s chest.

“What would I do without you?” he mumbled.

“Probably die.”

Will smirked and buried his face into Nick’s neck as Nick started playing with Will’s hair. It was his biggest weakness, Nick knew. After a fight, all he had to do was start running his fingers through Will’s lazy waves and then it’d be forgiveness and kisses.

They got in a lot of fights.

Nick closed his eyes. He tangled his fingers in matted knots and pressed his lips to Will’s forehead.

They always made up, though.

Will was starting to fall back asleep. He wrapped his arm around Nick’s torso and grabbed a handful of his shirt in a weak fist. No matter how cocky he was, Will was always clingy in tender moments; like he was afraid Nick could vanish. Perhaps Nick did have a habit of leaving prematurely. It wasn’t entirely his fault, though. He had responsibilities. He had a brother and an acting troupe to lead. Will just didn’t understand.

Will never understood.

Or maybe it was Nick who couldn’t understand what it meant to have someone who loved him and the importance of keeping that person by his side.

Nick ran his hand down Will’s neck and back. He traced his spine and started sluggishly massaging the tense muscles.

Will was already sound asleep, and Nick followed suit only moments later.

* * *

 

When Nick woke, he felt hot and dazed. He soon realized that it was from Will wrapped around him. He gently pulled away and sat up without waking him.

He didn’t feel very well-rested, and the sky was still the same shade of blue, so he assumed he hadn’t been asleep for too long. In a way, he was thankful. He wouldn’t have wanted to spend too long napping while he still had to pick up Nigel and run a few errands. In another way, he wanted to curl back up (in a much cooler place than Will’s bed) and sleep the whole day away.

Nick pressed a hand to Will’s forehead. There wasn’t much change. Will was dead to the world, and his fever kept him a sweating, flushed mess.

“I should go,” Nick whispered.

Will didn’t respond.

“I won’t be gone long. I only have to pick up Nigel and do something with him…” Nick didn’t really want to bring Nigel back to Will’s home. While Nigel was quiet and spent most of his time with his nose in books, Will probably needed as little people as possible around his sickbed. “And then I’ll find you something to eat. God knows when the last time you had a decent meal was.”

Will still didn’t respond.

If Nick was lucky and fast enough, he could be back by his side before Will ever woke up. Still, he wrote a note and left it by a glass of water.

_I’ll be back. Don’t know when. Don’t hold your breath._

Nick really wanted to write a sappy love note. Something about how he loved Will and would be back before Will could even begin to miss him. But as he put pen to paper, he thought it best to keep it to their typical snide banter. He could make it up later if Will was too offended by the curtness.

Nick brushed his hair out his face one last time before heading for the door. He looked over his shoulder once and ventured outside with a silent prayer for himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't looked up Fair Youth yet, do so. It's so important.

Nick held Nigel’s hand as they walked through the town. Nigel rambled about his night with their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Winsel, and how she lent him books if he promised to keep them in good condition. He carried them with such admiration and pride.

“She told me they used to belong to her husband before he died, and that he always wanted them to go to a good cause, but she could never part with him. But I can keep them until I finish them. I just have to be careful. Will you read them with me, Nicky?”

“Sure.” 

Nick was listening with only half an ear. He wondered if he could nap again when he got back to Will’s side. He didn’t care if he had to do it sitting up or on the floor. He just really needed sleep. 

“You have to be quiet,” Nick said when they approached Will’s front door. “He’s probably sleeping, and we can’t disturb him.”

Nigel nodded. He held Nick’s hand a little tighter.

When they walked in, Nick ushered Nigel to the kitchen while he looked to Will. 

“Oh! You’re awake.”

Will had been watching them with an amused grin. He looked a little more rested.

“I was holding my breath,” Will said. 

Nick smirked and took his seat next to Will. “So you read my note?”

Will turned his head to the kitchen. “I thought you said no kid.”

Nigel had climbed into a chair and opened one of his several books. His little legs swung as they came nowhere near to touching the floor. His chin rested in his hands, and his eyes paid careful attention to the book.

“I said no kid  _ yesterday _ ,” Nick said. “Today is a new day, and I can’t stick Nigel with our neighbor for more than 24 hours. Besides, he’s so quiet. Look at him.”

“Does he understand any of what he’s reading?”

Nick thought for a second. “I don’t think it matters to him. I think he just likes the beauty of words.”

Will hummed. “That’s how cliches are born.”

“He’s 7. I think we can put the criticism off for a few more years. Don’t be so cranky.”

“I’m sick. Aren’t I allowed to be cranky?”

“I take your cynicism as sign that you’re feeling better.”

Will nodded. “A tad.”

“We’ll take a tad. A tad is better than nothing.”

Nick pressed his knuckles to Will’s cheek. He did feel a bit cooler, but not by a considerable amount. Not enough to make Nick consider him out of the woods yet. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Does my answer matter?”

“No. I just want to know if I should make dinner now or later.”

Will propped himself up on his elbows in a struggle to sit up. Nick dove in to help. 

“I confess I have no appetite.”

Nick propped up Will’s pillow and helped him lean against the headboard. Will took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. It was sad to see such a small feat leave him drained. 

“I’ll make dinner later then,” Nick said. “And the three of us can eat together.”

Will nodded. He reached out and patted Nick’s hand, cracking his eyes open. 

“I think you'll find I don't have any food,” he said.

“I went to the market before I picked up Nigel.”

“Nick --”

“I used your money, though.”

Will smirked. “Fair. I'm not helpless, though.”

“For now you are.”

Nick pulled his hand away from Will’s. He pushed his chair against the wall and leaned back. 

“I'll cook when I wake up.”

“And leave me in boredom until then?”

“You have Nigel to watch.”

Nigel had yet to move. He had turned maybe one page in his book, though he still smiled. 

Nick closed his eyes. He faintly heard Will’s protests. He was too close to sleep to listen to them.

* * *

 

Nick slowly woke up with knots his back and a crick in his neck. He grimaced and sat up. The wooden chair had dug into his muscles between his shoulders, and he felt his joints cracking as he straightened them out.

He was too young for this.

“What about this one? Do you want me to read it?”

Nick looked to his left. Nigel was on Will’s lap, leaning against his chest with books spread out around them. It shocked Nick that Will was actually holding Nigel. Will hardly ever wanted a child to come near him, and admittedly, he did make exceptions for Nigel but never an exception as big as holding him in bed. 

“I want to read it,” Nigel said.

He held open a notebook Nick recognized as Will’s. Candles surrounded them and provided the only light in the dark cottage. Nick regretted to think that he had slept into the night.

“What's going on?” Nick asked.

They looked up at him. 

“We’re reading poetry,” Nigel said. 

“I was tired of watching him read to himself. I thought this would speed up the process, and I thought I should share my own creations.”

“So you can have Nigel feed your ego?” Nick asked, moving closer to the bed. 

Nigel held a sheet of paper in his hands, scanning the poem. A little smile grew on his face.

“Can I read now?” he asked. 

“Of course. We’re waiting!” Will said with feigned impatience and a sigh. 

Nigel giggled and nodded. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?/ Thou art more lovely and more temperate:/ Rough winds --”

“Do shake the darling buds of May/ And summer’s lease hath all too short a date,” Nick finished. 

Will and Nick looked at each other. Neither said a word, but a furious blush began to spread across Nick’s cheeks. Nigel huffed and crossed his arms. 

“ _ I  _ was reading!”

Nick chuckled and looked away. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. I just love that sonnet.”

“It  _ is  _ one of my better ones,” Will said. “But that’s no excuse for Nick to have interrupted. Shame on you, Nicholas.”

“I said I was sorry! Keep reading, Nigel. I won’t interrupt again.”

Nigel gave Nick a dirty look before continuing. “ Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines/ And often is his gold complexion dimmed.”

Will absently played with a curl on Nigel’s head. Nick watched him instead of listening to his poem. He took in the way Will followed along as Nigel read, and the way he succeeded with the tender touches. Will looked so natural with Nigel in his arms. 

“Who was this for?” 

The question caught Nick off-guard -- as if he was the one supposed to answer the question with a lie.

“I wrote it for someone special,” Will said with mastered nonchalance.

“Do you love her?” 

“I… would say so.”

“Does she love you back?”

Will shifted around in his bed. He glanced at Nick. “I don’t think I could answer on her behalf.” 

“But you should know if she loves you. Even if she’s never said it.”

Will looked to Nigel in surprise. “That’s a very wise thing for a boy of your age to say. How so?”

Nick furrowed his eyebrows and leaned forward. Nigel squirmed a bit with all eyes looking at him with such intensity. 

“By the things she does for you. Like if she picks you special flowers or buys you certain books or makes you your favorite food. That’s what Nick does for me, and he doesn’t always say ‘I love you’. But it’s kinda like he’s saying it anyways.”

Will looked down at his blankets. “That’s very sweet. You’re a true poet in the making.”

Nigel’s eyes lit up. Nick had a lump in his throat. 

“I’ll start dinner,” he said, quietly. 

He rose and walked to the kitchen on unsteady feet. His mind was blank. He couldn’t remember what he had bought that day or where he had put it. The only thing he could think of was the sonnet and Nigel’s words. He really didn’t tell Will he loved him that often… never just because. 

“Let’s not read anymore of mine,” he heard Will say. “Let’s read something from one of your books.”

“I love you” was only ever spoken after fights or when they laid in bed, breathless. Occasionally, they would find the other a flower or a poem. Will had written many sonnets for Nick, actually, and each was a different way of Will saying “I love you”. 

Yet, when Nick tried imagining the phrase in Will’s voice, he couldn’t. And he supposed if Will would try to do the same for him, he would draw an equal blank. 


	6. Chapter 6

Nigel fell asleep in Nick’s lap soon after dinner. 

That was when all conversation died. 

Without the childish ramblings and readings, there was nothing to talk about. Will stayed in bed, fidgeting with his blanket and pretending like the silence didn’t bother him. Nick watched Nigel sleep, occasionally running his fingers through the curls or stroking a cheek, and pretended like he didn’t notice the silence bothered Will. 

“I should take him home,” Nick said. He looked at Will for the first time in an hour. “Do you think you’ll be okay if you’re alone tonight?”

Will nodded as though the concern was ridiculous. 

“I could always come back later --”

“No, no, no.” Will said. “I’ll be fine. You go home with your brother.”

Nick looked back to Nigel. He sighed. 

“Alright. I’ll come back in the morning, though.”

Will smiled, though it looked sad and unconvincing. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

His smile faded when Nick didn’t acknowledge him. 

“Come on, Nigel,” he said instead, shaking the little boy. “Time to go home.”

Nigel whined, but he slid off Nick’s lap. As Nick collected his books, he rubbed his eyes and pouted at the floor. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Nick said, turning to Will. “Get some sleep.”

“Of course. It’s all I’ve been doing as of late. I’ve mastered it by now.”

Nick forced a grin. “Let’s go, Nige.”

He ushered him forward. When they made it to the door, Will called out. 

“Don’t go yet! I need to speak with you.”

Nick handed the books to Nigel. “Wait outside for me.”

“Okay,” Nigel mumbled. 

As soon as Nigel had stepped out, Nick took a deep breath and crossed the room. He didn’t want to speak with Will. He wanted to go home. He wanted to tuck Nigel in like he used to and sleep in his own bed and not think about anything. 

Will swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked up at Nick. 

“What is it?” 

“I just…”

Will reached out and tugged on Nick’s collar until he leaned down. He pressed their lips together for a long moment, pulling apart only when they were out of breath. Nick closed his eyes. Will pressed their foreheads together. 

Nick felt Will’s fingers bury into his hair. 

He straightened up. “I have to go.”

“Have a good night,” Will said, sounding like he was trying so hard to invoke some emotion from Nick and sounded disappointed as he failed. 

Nick knew that Will was watching him leave, but he never looked back. He took Nigel’s hand and walked him through the town to their own home. 

“Goodnight, Nige.”

“Goodnight, Nicky.”

A kiss and a hug, and the candles went out. 

Nick didn’t close his eyes for an hour.

* * *

 

Nick promised himself that he would go to rehearsal. He couldn’t skip another day when he was the lead. 

God, why was he the lead? Because Will wanted him to be. Because “I really see you when I write Henry!” Because Will wanted to be romantic, and the thought of one of them writing and one them starring was such an enticing thought that Will had to make it come true.

So, even though he barely slept and had to check on Will that morning, he still told himself that he would go to the theatre. At the very least, he would supervise the rest of the troupe. He would have to memorize lines, too. He hadn’t been doing an amazing job with that. In his defense, Will had changed the script every week.

Will.

Just thinking the name made his chest tighten. He truly didn’t want to see Will. He wanted to take a break from looking at him and hearing him and thinking about him. Being around Will made him long for freedom. His mind always wandered to other things he could do -- without Will. Never big things, but simple things like different ways he could spend his evenings. 

Maybe after Will recovered, Nick would take the space he needed. After the show would finish its run, he could plan something with Nigel. They could spend more evenings together and write together like how Nigel always begged to. But Will would need to be better first. As soon as Will would sit down at his desk with his notebook and pen, Nick would be out. 

“You’re up?”

Will sat his pen down and casually turned to Nick. 

He didn’t think it would be so soon. 

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said. “I was just finishing a monologue.”

_ “You’re up?” _

Will rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He was fully dressed, and his hair looked as perfectly styled as it did whenever he spent many grueling minutes on it. But, his face was still pale and drawn. 

“I’m feeling better, so I decided to do a little work.”

“You don’t  _ look _ much better.”

“Well, I  _ am _ . I’ve slept and ate and rested, and if I have to stay in bed for another day, I’ll go mad.”

“But --”

Will rose. He sauntered to Nick, put his hands on his shoulders and smiled. “You don't need to still take care of me and keep me bedridden.” 

“You're still not well.” 

Nick’s temper was rising. It didn’t help that Will didn’t care.

“I'm fine! And you're keeping me from my writing.”

“You don’t  _ need  _ to be writing.”

“Nick, please. This play is very important and --”

“What is it with you and this damn play!?” 

Nick didn’t mean to yell. But he did. And Will stared at him with wide eyes, dropping his arms to his side. Nick should have stopped, but he couldn’t.

“Why is this play all you care about? Is it really so important that you neglect your own health and drive yourself nearly insane and then completely disregard my good intentions.”

“Nick --”

“Let me finish. These past two days, I have stayed by your side. I have told you time and time again to take a break and give yourself time to relax. I only keep you bedridden because if I don’t, then you’d never do what’s good for you.”

“Oh, so you know what’s good for me?”

“Obviously you don’t! Will, the fact that you can’t realize how dangerously close you were to losing it -- and how close I was to losing you -- makes me worried. What’s so special about your play? I say to hell with the whole thing!”

Will was silent for a beat. “It’s  _ our  _ play.”

Nick’s shoulders fell. 

“I’m trying to write a play that’s great for  _ us. _ You as the lead. Me as the author. This can be the gateway to something magnificent. Imagine what we can accomplish if this play is as good as I can possibly make it.”

Nick shook his head. “Will… You’ve become delusional. You’ve been so caught up in the future you’ve forgotten to think about now... What about us  _ now _ , Will?”

“What about us now?”

“We’re falling apart. Can’t you see that?”

They stared at each other. Neither could bring themselves to speak. Nick lost track of the time he spent looking into Will’s dumbfounded eyes. 

After he willed his numb body to move, he left. 

Without Will, who was he? He met Will when he was just starting out in the acting world. Will gave him his first pointers in acting, and admittedly, they were good. Will was the one that pushed Nick to pursue leadership in the troupe as people left and to take more leads. He owed a lot to Will. So much so that he felt like Will had become a part of his identity -- a crucial part that Nick missed when he walked into the theatre and stood on stage.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a tumblr, you can follow me (myblushes-watson) and request a fic for Something Rotten! :)

Nick didn’t want to look at Will when he eventually came back to rehearsal. Whenever Will made a comment on a scene, he would hold back a cringe and nod along. Will didn’t even make eye contact. He kept his eyes on his script -- that he finally stopped reworking -- and kept his voice down.

Dress rehearsal came faster than Nick thought it would. He donned his costume of Henry VI and stepped on stage. It had been said that they would have the biggest audience they ever had. In just 24 hours, the theatre would be filled. It should have been thrilling, but Nick couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t make himself get excited. He was the lead in their biggest play and yet...

“Nick! I need to have a word with you.”

There was still that unsettled, heavy feeling sitting in his stomach since the day he blew up at Will. It refused to go away and left no room for food and floated up to his head when he tried to sleep. Every night he had maybe three hours of sleep and caught cat naps during rehearsals. He forced down a couple bites of food at every meal, and he didn’t truly worry. It meant he could spend less money on food for himself.

“What is it, Will?”

Will played with his notebook as he approached Nick. He didn't look well, either. His face no longer looked like he was the victim of a fever, but he seemed tired and thin. Before he began writing, Will couldn’t have afforded to lose much weight. He was always thin, and a mix of poverty and vanity assured he stayed that way. He was never unhealthy, but stress and illness chiseling away at his appetite for weeks made his body drop the last few pounds that was keeping him from being a sickly stick. 

“Are you ready for tomorrow night?” Will asked.

“Of course.”

Will tried to smile. “Can we expect you to drink with us after the show?”

Nick looked to the wings. “I'm not sure.”

“Come on. It'll be a celebration… or an attempt to drown our sorrows.”

“I'll need to take Nigel home and get him in bed.”

“Oh. He's coming?”

Nick nodded. “He's excited. He… admires you now.”

Bile nearly raised in his throat. He couldn’t stand the thought of Nigel admiring Will. He wasn’t sure if he would have ever considered Will a positive role model, but he definitely didn’t standing a foot away from him on that stage at that moment. Will was arrogant and worked until he dropped because he valued his work so much. Nick couldn’t have Nigel grow up like that.

Will smiled. “Really? Can't say I'm surprised.”

Nick clenched his jaw. If only Nigel knew how selfish and egotistical Will could be and how awful of a weight he left on Nick’s being.

“Tell him I'm glad he's coming,” Will said, turning around with renewed confidence. 

Nick sneered as Will walked away. Everything that Nick thought that he could ignore about Will and love him despite of, made him nauseous and want to punch him in his face.

Nick ran a hand over his face. He would really need sleep that night.

* * *

 

Dress rehearsal finished and the next day, the troupe was nervously buzzing around the theatre. Nick dressed in his kingly garb and resisted the urge to vomit. He faked a smiled at everyone who flashed an excited smile at him and repeated a list of responses to the same questions. 

“I’m a little nervous.”

“Of course I’m excited!”

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Will did a good job on this play. It’ll be great.”

The truth was he wasn’t nervous or excited, he was all ready but wanted privacy, and Will really had done a good job. But Nick couldn’t get into the same mindset of “this is the best play we’ve ever performed” as the rest of the troupe. He couldn’t get into any mindset. 

He was too numb.   


* * *

 

The show ended in ear splitting cheers and applause. It was refreshing. Every other show had ended in rotten produce thrown on stage or no reaction from the audience, leaving the actors awkwardly waiting in the wings. 

Being the last one to walk on stage and taking the final bow made Nick’s heart flutter for just a moment. He beamed as he joined the rest of the cast at the front of the stage and took their hands. All too soon, though, it ended, and he was back in the role of Nick Bottom. Back in the role of repeating the same menial actions every inglorious day.

Everyone backstage was rambunctious. They changed out of their costumes as quickly as possible and shouted over one another. Will was receiving claps on the back and shaking hands. His smile was huge, and his eyes were bright. 

“Drinks are on me!” he said. 

Nick watched from the door of his dressing room. He, too, had been congratulated. But Will was the one getting the bulk of the praise. He was surrounded by the troupe and a few audience members that had made it backstage, eating up all the attention.

In the middle of his adoring crowd, Will caught Nick’s despondants eyes. His smile dropped. No one noticed. 


	8. Chapter 8

Nigel was sound asleep. Nick quietly cleaned up their cottage, as it had been neglected through the performances. Tidying up by candle light was his only option. It wasn’t that bad, though. It was the only peace Nick could get through the weeks. 

A loud knock came at the door. Nick looked to Nigel. He was undisturbed, thankfully. 

Nick wanted to throw open the door and tell whoever it was to go away. He froze when he saw Will in the doorway. 

“We need to talk,” Will said with a lazy smile. 

Nick was overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and Will’s inability to stand on his own feet. He couldn’t protest to Will walking in.

“Nigel is sleeping!” he hissed. “Be quiet!”

Will opened his mouth in surprise when he looked over to Nigel and dramatically whispered: “Oh! The little one! How is he?” 

“He’s fine. He’s good. Why are you here?”

Will snickered. He leaned in and pulled Nick close to his chest. 

Nick pushed him away before Will could smother his lips. 

“Will!”

“What?” Will laughed. “What am I doing now, Nicholas?”

“For one, you’re drunk --”

“I was celebrating!”

“And two, we… we aren’t doing this anymore.”

“Oh, come on. We always have these little rows. And we make up…” 

Will leaned in again. Nick pushed him away. 

“I’m serious this time. I can’t be happy with you.”

Will looked like he was finally understanding. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Nick looked back to Nigel. He was somehow still sleeping. 

“You can’t be happy with me?” Will asked. 

“No. And, I’ve been thinking... I can’t work with you, either.”

“Oh? Pray tell what your plans are then. You can’t leave the troupe.” Will crossed his arms.

“No, but I can tell you to.”

Will stared. His furrowed his eyebrows together. 

“You’re kicking me out?” 

“Keep your voice down!”

“You’re kicking me out of the troupe that  _ I  _ made successful these past two weeks?”

“That  _ you _ made successful? What about this ‘us’ business you were talking about before we premiered?”

“That was when there was an ‘us’! But, no. If you want us to part ways -- for good. Fine! I’ll leave. I’ll take my plays elsewhere, and then you’ll regret this.”

“Oh please! As long as I don’t have to work with you ever again, I’m happy!”

Will threw open the door. “It was nice while it lasted!” 

He slammed it. 

Nick was left fuming at the door. He clenched his fists at his side and grinded his teeth. 

“Nick?”

He turned around. Nigel was sitting up, and Nick could just barely see tears streaming down his face. 

“Oh, Nigel. It’s okay. It was just a fight.”

Nick quickly crossed to his side and put him in his lap. Nigel was just a tad too big to fit, but Nick held him tight anyways.

“Are you and Will not working together?”

Nick fought back tears as he shook his head. “Not anymore. He has to leave.”

“Why did you kick him out?”

“We just can’t work together anymore, Nige.” Nick wiped at the tears collecting on his cheeks. “But everything is okay. And it’s late. So come on, go back to sleep.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Nige. It’s way past your bedtime. Lay down.”

Nigel climbed out of Nick’s lap and into bed. Nick tucked him in like he used to. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and ruffled his hair. Nigel smiled and was sound asleep almost immediately.

Nick envied his ability to sleep like a log whenever he wanted. Nick had been without sleep for far too long. His body felt heavy and his mind was foggy. He knew he would feel better if he just slept, but every night when he laid next to Nigel, thoughts of Will and the stage occupied his mind. All he could was think through his life, regret every decision, and keep his eyes closed just in case his body would give up the fight against consciousness.

* * *

 

It would be weeks before he would finally be able to sleep normally. He thought that not seeing Will at the theatre every day would make it better. It only made it worse. 

Months later, he would hear of new Shakespeare plays. They would have a rough start, and Nick would feel bitter pleasure when he read the negative reviews. 

A year later, he would see that another Shakespeare play had opened and everyone was loving it. He would sneer at people as they talked about it and praised Will. He would forbid Nigel from seeing it. But, he would sneak into the penny seats for an act before leaving with a heavy heart and watery eyes. 

Only six months after that, he would hear it for the first time. “ _ The _ Bard.” He would rant to everyone and anyone about it. 

Two years after their separation, Nick would see Will. After another one of Nick’s disastrous shows, he would stare at him from across his dressing room. 

“Get out,” he would say. 

Will would have a beard, and his hair would be longer. He would have built up muscle and started to use something in his hair that made it look even better with his lazy yet attractive style. But his eyes would be the same. His nervous finger twitches would be the same. His smile would be the same. 

“Nick, please... “

“No. Get out. I never want to see you again.”

“It’s been --”

“I  _ know  _ how long it’s been, Will. I want you out!”

Will would turn away, saying that he liked the play. He would leave a letter behind. Nick would never read it. 

After almost 10 years, he would lay in bed with his wife with Nigel next to him, and he would think again about how much he hated Shakespeare.


End file.
